A Beautiful Girl
by solnishka
Summary: Belle, Lysandre's genetically engineered daughter, is left behind after the destruction of Team Flare. Steeped in Lysandre's ideals of creating a beautiful world, she is unprepared for the ugliness of reality… as well as its complicated beauty. The E4 are trying to give her a normal childhood, but can Belle learn to accept them as anything other than obstacles to Lysandre's plans?
1. The Conference

"So," Sycamore said, "We have a bit of a thorny situation here."

Siebold snorted. "_A bit_ indeed."

"Now that Lysandre has been... hrm..."

"It needs must be stated plainly, Professor," Wikstrom said, holding up a gauntleted hand. "Lysandre and the other ringleaders of the accursed Team Flare have been jailed—for the rest of their lives and without possibility of parole, as they deserve."

"It's only Lysandre that presents our current predicament, however," Sycamore said, repressing a wince at the fate of his former friend. The trial, after digging him out of the rubble of the ultimate weapon's control bunker and treating his injuries, had been brutal; Lysandre had been too enthralled by his ideology, his _insanity_, to actually realize that he had done anything wrong in trying to bring about the destruction of Kalos. The children from Vaniville Town had been witnesses for the prosecution.

"We have to decide what to do with the girl."

"What girl?" Malva asked, propping her feet up on the conference table. She had breezed into the meeting twenty minutes late with a Staryubucks coffee, complaining about how her personal fashion assistant was unable to have any good ideas. Whether Diantha's request for Malva's resignation from the Elite Four no later than the end of the year bothered her was impossible to tell.

"Lysandre's 'daughter', Belle. The one currently under house arrest in his penthouse in Lumiose City."

Malva shrugged and sipped her Staryubucks. "Is she underage?"

"Yes."

"Seems simple: the mom gets custody—unless she's in prison as well?"

"The girl has no mother."

"Deceased?" Drasna asked, her brows drawing together in worry. "The poor dear."

"Nothing so simple," Sycamore said with a shake of his head. "She _has no mother_. She has only one genetic parent: Lysandre."

"That is impossible," Wikstrom said. "My knowledge of genetics is poor, I admit, but during meiosis there is required an equal exchange of chromosomes between the parents to create a fertilized egg capable of growing into a human child. One human alone cannot supply them, unless this child is a clone of Lysandre, which is impossible since she is a girl."

Sycamore pinched the bridge of his nose. "I admit that genetics isn't my area of specialization either, but it's somehow true. I've taken blood samples and have only been able to find Lysandre's DNA in the girl. Xerosic has been very cooperative in trying to explain how she was created, but since his notes were destroyed with the Labs we're a long ways from understanding the process. We _think_ it involves the totipotency of embryonic stem cells, but..." Sycamore shrugged, realizing his audience wasn't interested in the details.

"So she was 'created' rather than born?" Siebold demanded, wrinkling his nose.

"Yes. As far as we can tell she's a completely normal, healthy ten-year-old girl, discounting her, uh, means of entry into this world. And she has an _absolute and unshakable_ belief in the Team Flare ideology. She _worships_ Lysandre. And now Lysandre is in prison, Team Flare is disbanded, and we have an orphaned girl who is in no way ready to enter the foster care system."

There was a moment of silence in the room. Siebold folded his arms over his chest. Wikstrom thoughtfully stroked his beard. Drasna took a deep breath. Malva sipped her Staryubucks and examined her manicure.

"Who's watching over her now?" Drasna asked eventually.

"Sina and Dexio, my assistants. Clemont was also kind enough to provide an extra security detail of electric-type pokémon."

"What protection!" Wikstrom exclaimed. "Does she have pokémon?"

"Just a low-level sylveon. The sylveon wasn't housed in a registered pokéball, so it was presumed stolen and has been put up for adoption."

"So she's all alone," Drasna said, "friendless and probably scared."

Sycamore snorted. "Not scared," he said, "angry is more like it. Dexio reported she attacked him with a broom yesterday in an escape attempt."

Wikstrom chuckled, then sobered at the Professor's stern look. "Is there anything else we should be aware of regarding this... Belle, you said her name was?"

"Yes, Belle is her name. The vast majority of Lysandre's wealth and property has been liquidated and used as reparations for the damage done to Geosenge Town and other locations... except for a trust fund with 500,000,000 pokédollars, which belongs to Belle."

Malva coughed on her Staryubucks. "Who's the trustee?" she asked hoarsely.

"Xerosic was the original trustee, but after his arrest he named a new one... you, Malva."

"...You're kidding me."

"Not at all," Sycamore said. "It seems your Team Flare connections have landed you a real responsibility now."

"Ugh, _fine_," Malva snapped. "What am I supposed to do?"

"It's fairly straightforward: Belle receives increments of the money as she matures, and a certain amount has been set aside for her education."

"So I'm not required to act as her guardian?"

"No."

"Good." Malva tossed her empty Staryubucks cup into the waste basket. "I have a broadcast in fifteen minutes. Goodbye, all." She stood up and waltzed out of the conference room, her houndoom padding after her. Someone caught the door as it swung shut behind her.

"G'morning," Ramos said. Olympia, walking next to him, merely nodded.

"Clemont was kind enough to tell us 'bout the Flare sprout yeh've got holed up in Lumiose City, Professor," the gardener said, seating himself next to Wikstrom. Olympia glided into a chair next to him, seemingly with minimal interaction with the physical world. "We Gym Leaders have conferred, and we'd like to have our say if that be acceptable."

"We're open to any and all ideas, Ramos," Sycamore said.

"Make the whippersnapper a trainer," Ramos said. "Give 'er back the sylveon and let 'er loose on Kalos. Anybody can get Kalosian citizenship if they get all eight Gym badges and pass a written exam, and she's an unlabeled bag o' seeds with no birth records or documentation—let 'er get a taste o' the world and earn 'er place."

"...Do you second that, Olympia?" Drasna asked.

There was a beat of silence, and then the psychic-type Gym Leader's eyes sharpened to the world around her. "The child," she murmured, her voice so quiet that even a stray thought could drown it out. The Elite Four members and Pokémon Professor strained to listen. "Is alone. Lost."

Olympia fell silent. The other people seated at the conference table waited several seconds to see if she would continue speaking, then turned to each other.

"Well," Siebold said, "I think Ramos' idea is _spectacularly_ bad."

The gardener raised an eyebrow.

"It's a recipe for disaster," the chef elaborated. "Training and traveling alone, especially so young, is dangerous. We _all_ made the official recommendation that trainers at the minimum age should be accompanied by an adult or experienced trainer until they received their second Gym badge—who's going to accompany Belle? Forgive me, Ramos, but you weren't here when Sycamore talked about his assistant being attacked with a broom. That might _sound_ humorous, but if she needs to watched day and night so she doesn't run away from her... her caretakers, shall we say, as well as be protected from whatever hazards she encounters, it'll require multiple high-level trainers for an extended period of time. Our budget is stretched a little thin at the moment cleaning up after Lysandre; we can't afford a full-time security detail for one little girl. And giving her pokémon, pokémon that will get stronger and gain confidence battling, is something I am firmly against. I _cannot_ condone this plan of action."

Ramos bowed his head.

"Could she simply stay where she is now?" Drasna asked, "under house arrest? A glamorous penthouse isn't so bad, and the bounds of the girl's trust fund probably extend to hiring a tutor and housekeeping service."

"She'll be lonely and miserable, and how long would she have to stay that way? A month, a year? Multiple years? A decade? Her whole life?" Sycamore said, and sighed. He ran his hands through his unruly hair, trying to think of a solution.

"It seems to me," Wikstrom said, "that our problem is this: the girl must be dealt with and treated humanely, but none among us wish to deal with her or treat her with anything other than the caution we would feel for a hostile wild pokémon."

"That... seems to be the case," Sycamore agreed.

"I hate to ask this," Drasna said, "But has Lysandre been consulted? He did raise her, after all; surely he has some thoughts on her welfare."

Sycamore shook his head. "He's refusing to speak since being imprisoned. I've tried to talk to him about this very issue, but he won't even look at me. I visit him every week."

"You are a good and honorable friend, Professor," Wikstrom said gently.

"Not good enough to stop him from pursuing his 'beautiful world'," Sycamore said, and had to look away. He cleared his throat and returned to the conversation after a moment.

"I'll take 'er," Ramos said.

"Excuse me?" Drasna asked.

"I'll take on the girl. Belle. Someone needs to be responsible for this persnickety whippersnapper, and I've raised four sprouts and nine grand-sprouts. They're like beans: need lots o' water and a good strong trellis to grow up good."

"Are you intending to make Belle your retirement project, Ramos?"

"Not at all," the gardener said, and chuckled. "She'll be my granddaughter's. Georgina's always complaining she needs more help at the ranch, so why not? Nice, stable environment, lots o' hard work, and somebody or some-pokémon always watchin'. The Flare sprout can adjust to new soil at Baa de Mer, put down new roots, learn some things 'bout life and the world. It'll be safer than trainin', and freer than stayin' potted in a penthouse."

Wikstrom slapped a gauntleted hand on the table. "I favor it!" he said.

"As do I," Drasna said.

"I see no better alternative," Siebold said.

"Seeing as we're all in agreement," Sycamore said, "I'll tell Sina and Dexio to get Belle to Baa de Mer Ranch as soon as possible. After that your... granddaughter will look after everything?"

"Georgina," Ramos prompted, and chuckled again. "She'll be thrilled."


	2. To Baa de Mer

Most of the time, Sina liked being one half of Professor Sycamore's top research team. It was fun, it was rewarding, and Dexio was a good friend as well as a good partner. They had done every bit of field research together, both good and bad—ranging from going mantine Surfing in Azure Bay to note water temperature and pH levels during a migration of bioluminescent tentacool, to trudging through the muck and sludge of Route 14 while collecting slime samples from pathetically aggressive goomy. It was an adventurous life, full of danger and challenges.

And now she was babysitting.

"_I—want—my—father!_" Belle shouted, punctuating each word with a stomp of her foot. The girl was 140-some centimeters of redheaded fury. _Loud_ redheaded fury.

"Belle, can you please use your indoor voice?" Sina asked as gently as possible. She could feel a migraine building behind her left eye.

"_No!_" Belle shrieked. "_Give me back my father!_ _Give him back!_"

"Your dad is in prison because he tried to hurt a lot of people, Belle," Sina explained for what felt like the four hundredth time. It also felt like she was talking to a six-year-old rather than a ten-year-old; she remembered the kids from Vaniville Town being a lot more mature than this. "We can't let him out, and you can't visit him right now."

"_That's not fair!_" Belle shrieked.

It was becoming clearer and clearer that Lysandre had kept Belle isolated; her human contact had been severely restricted, probably in the name of whatever experiments he had been conducting on or with her, which meant that a) she was extremely attached to the few people she had seen on a regular basis who had been kind to her, all of whom were in prison now, and b) her social skills were _incredibly_ underdeveloped. Hence, the tantrums.

Understanding them didn't make them much easier to bear, however.

"Are you hungry?" Sina asked. Belle wouldn't take pills and fought viciously at the sight of a syringe, but Sina and Dexio were becoming adept at slipping tranquilizers into the girl's food. It kept her calm and, even better, quiet. The guilt Sina had felt at allowing the girl to remain drugged and complacent for the majority of each day had evaporated when she'd caught Belle trying to smash one of Dexio's pokéballs with a pokémon inside it. That could have been disastrous.

"No," Belle spat, narrowing her eyes. She might be catching on to the tranquilizers. That was bad; Sina would need to talk to Dexio about that one.

"Okay. I'm going to make lunch now for me and Dexio. Can you tell me if you change your mind?"

Belle didn't answer and stomped off to her room, followed closely by Sina's glaceon. The girl seemed more accepting of pokémon than people, though that might just be because Sina's glaceon and Dexio's espeon were part of the eevee evolution family the way her sylveon had been. Either way, she'd remain under a pair of watchful eyes while Sina was in the kitchen.

Dexio was already there, sitting at the breakfast table in front of the window and typing up the latest report for Professor Sycamore. The bruise on his arm from the broom attack was starting to yellow around the edges, but he still looked tired. His espeon was draped over his shoulders like a lavender fur stole, radiating a soothing psychic aura that made Sina's shoulders relax the moment she stepped into the room.

"How was the loudred?" Dexio asked.

"Loud," Sina answered, and began rummaging through the cupboards looking for sandwich ingredients. For the first few days it had been downright unnerving to live in Lysandre's penthouse, walking his floors, sitting on his furniture, and eating the food in his refrigerator. It gave a weird sense of intimacy with the misanthropic genius, to see the books he kept on his shelves and look out the windows at the opulence of Lumiose City the same way he might have done. But familiarity had grown, and the exhaustion of dealing with Belle's outbursts had set in, and now it was just another place that they would live in for a time before moving on.

Dexio sipped the tea cooling at his elbow. "I think her neuroticism is getting worse," he commented without looking up from his laptop.

"Really? I hadn't noticed." Sina spread condiments over the bread—mayonnaise for herself and spicy mustard for Dexio—and then began slicing a tomato.

One of the heliolisk that Clemont had loaned them was basking in the sunbeam from the kitchen window. It lazily opened one eye to watch her for a moment, then decided she was no threat and went back to sleep. Another poked its head into the kitchen for a moment, surveyed the room, then zipped down the hallway as it continued its patrolling of the penthouse. Nobody was seriously expecting an attack from remnants of Team Flare, but it never hurt to be alert.

There was stomping from the hallway, and then Belle walked into the room. "I'm hungry now," she announced, glaring at Sina as though daring the older girl to contradict her.

"I'll make you a sandwich as soon as I finish mine and Dexio's," Sina said. Espeon increased the intensity of his aura, keeping Sina calm even though she knew her heart-rate should be bumping upwards. It was hard not to look towards the cupboard where the tranquilizers were.

"No! I want _that_ one!" Belle said, pointing towards Dexio's sandwich.

"That doesn't belong to you," Sina said, trying to be reasonable. "It'll take less than five minutes for me to make you a sandwich of your very own, okay? And you can pick _everything_ that goes inside it—even ice cream!" She forced a smile onto her face, but the expression faded away as Belle jutted out her jaw. The girl snatched the two slices of bread and pieces of tomato off the plate and started stuffing them into her mouth.

"It's too spicy," she complained a moment later, spraying crumbs everywhere. Her face was turning red.

"Dexio likes spicy brown mustard from Hoenn," Sina said. "You shouldn't eat his sandwiches." She got the bread out of the cupboard again and started making a replacement meal for her friend.

"_No_," Belle said, and continued eating as she glared at Sina. Her face was now red _and_ shiny with sweat. Sina couldn't bring herself to feel sympathetic to the girl as she shredded lettuce leaves into reasonable-sized pieces and got ham out of the refrigerator. Belle watched her every move with extreme suspicion as she continued to chew the spicy sandwich. Eventually, as tears beaded in the corners of her eyes, she couldn't take it any longer and spit a glob of chewed bread-and-tomato mush onto the floor.

"That," Sina said as she closed the refrigerator door, "was disgusting."

Belle flinched, cringing backwards for a half-heartbeat as though expecting something harsh to follow, but when Sina did nothing her normal glare returned. "It was bad," she said, sullen as ever.

Sina got a paper towel and offered it to the girl. "Clean it up," she ordered.

"No."

"Clean. Up. Your. Mess."

"_No!_"

"Why?" Sina demanded, raising her voice despite herself. Espeon quickly increased the intensity of his aura, but Sina was too angry. She fought the soothing influence, balling her hands into fists at her sides. "Why is it so hard for you to act like a normal kid rather than a _baby_ who yells and makes messes when she doesn't get what she wants? Why is it _so hard?_"

"Sina—" Dexio said, standing up from the table.

Belle screamed. She opened her mouth and _screamed_ at Sina, raising her small fists over her head and waving them around. The heliolisk jumped up from where it was basking, sparking in distress and clearly unsure of how to deal with a raging human child, and then scuttled into a corner to hide behind a potted fern. Glaceon raced into the room, baring her teeth at the girl. Needles of ice had crystallized on her incisors as she readied an Ice Fang to defend her trainer.

"That is _enough_," Dexio said, taking hold of Belle's arm when she tried to swing her fist at Sina. The older girl had grabbed Glaceon and was cuddling the pokémon against her chest, trying to calm them both. Belle fought against Dexio's hold, flailing at him with her free arm and trying to claw at his face with her short fingernails.

"Espeon, use Confusion!"

The gem in the psychic-type pokémon's forehead flashed for an instant, glowing as brightly as a bloody sunset above his blazing eyes. Belle's own eyes unfocused, her pupils dilating wide. She went limp in Dexio's grasp, her knees buckling, and slid bonelessly to the floor at the trainer's feet. Dexio quickly scooped her into his arms and carried her to her room, where she was unceremoniously dumped onto the bed. He exited before Belle could recover, locking the door behind himself and wedging a chair under the knob for good measure.

"That was certainly exciting," Dexio said as he returned to the kitchen. Sina was still holding her glaceon, shocked by her own outburst and loss of temper. Espeon, sensing her distress, twined around her ankles, his soothing aura boosted by the physical contact.

"Like I said, her neuroticism is getting worse," Dexio said to fill up the silence, finishing making both their sandwiches and then taking a bite of his own.

"I don't know how much longer I can deal with her," Sina admitted. "This is the hardest assignment the Professor has ever given us." Glaceon began to squirm in her arms, disliking being held for so long, and Sina set the ice-type pokémon down before the air temperature started to drop.

"I'm sure we'll all survive."

"With our insanity intact?"

"I didn't say _that_," Dexio said, and then Sina's Holo-Caster began to chime with an incoming call. "Is it your mom again?" he asked.

"No, it's... the Professor," Sina said, sitting down at the breakfast table and activating the Holo-Caster. A shimmering blue hologram of Sycamore's torso was projected above the machine. It waved cheerfully at the two trainers.

"Hey, Sina!" Sycamore said.

"Hi, Professor."

"So, how are you and Dexio doing?"

"Not... not the greatest," Sina admitted. "But we're managing. How are you?"

"Oh, just fine. I had the meeting with the Elite Four about Belle."

Sina leaned forward in her chair, and Dexio paused in chewing a bite of sandwich. "How did it go?" Sina asked.

"I have good news and bad news. The bad news is that Malva is less than thrilled about being the new trustee, but that's workable. Diantha can bully her into being responsible, at least for the time being. The good news is that we know what to do with Belle."

"Will one of the E4 take her on as a ward?" Dexio interrupted. "I'm betting on Wikstrom with his code of chivalry."

Sycamore's hologram smiled. "Nope, not Wikstrom," it said. "Ramos barged into the meeting. He actually _wants_ to foster Belle at his family's ranch, Baa de Mer on Route 12, until she can pass a psychological evaluation and be deemed stable enough to formally enter foster care."

"...Why?"

Sycamore frowned thoughtfully. "He's a grandfather, and by all accounts likes helping children grow just as much as he likes helping plants. I don't know him well enough to tell you more than that."

In the hallway, the door to Belle's room rattled in the frame, and there was muffled shouting and screaming from behind it. There was a _thud_ as something large and heavy hit the wall.

"What was that?" Sycamore asked.

"I think it was Belle's desk chair," Sina answered.

Sycamore's hologram blinked.

"She's angry at us," the research assistant elaborated. "She misses Lysandre and wants to see him."

"We can't allow that."

"I know. Thanks for the tranquilizers, by the way."

"Those are usually reserved for uncontrollably aggressive small pokémon. I don't like using them on a child."

"I feel the same way, but we have to. Belle is uncontrollably aggressive too, and we've tried everything else."

"_Everything_ else?"

Sina sighed and massaged her temples with one hand. "Yes, Professor, _everything_ else."

She and Dexio had tried everything they could think of—talking to Belle, offering comfort when she cried, letting her play with their pokémon, letting her have her way with as many things as they could, trying to be her _friends_—but nothing worked. Belle was determined to view Professor Sycamore's research assistants with nothing other than naked distrust and frustration. She was emotionally unstable and probably traumatized by Team Flare, and the two teenagers were neither prepared for nor able to deal with that.

In Belle's room, the sounds of rage had died down, to be replaced with muffled sobbing. Sina thought of her two younger brothers, crying over broken toys or having to go to bed early—not over having their parent taken away to prison and getting their entire life turned upside down. Her heart ached.

"How soon can you get her to Baa de Mer?" Sycamore asked.

"This evening," Sina answered.

"I'll contact Ramos' granddaughter and let her know you'll be there. Good luck, and goodbye."

"Goodbye," Sina echoed, then ended the call. She sat back with a sigh.

"Do you really think we can get her to Baa de Mer by tonight?" Dexio asked. "Teleporting will only get us to Coumarine City."

"That's more than enough if we travel through the night."

Dexio grimaced, but nodded. His psychic-type specialization didn't lend itself well to combating the dark-type pokémon that emerged more frequently after sunset. "I'll let Kirlia do his thing," he said, pulling a pokéball out of his backpack. It maximized in his hand, and the psychic/fairy-type materialized with a flash of light when Dexio pressed the button. He chirped a greeting to his trainer, then jerked his head up and down in imitation of a human nod when Dexio pointed to Belle's door and mouthed the word "hypnosis".

Belle was learning to associate Kirlia with that particular move. When the door opened, Sina heard a shouted protest that was quickly cut off as the Hypnosis took hold. Its effects didn't last long, however, and Sina was already grabbing the tranquilizers out of the cupboard. She moved quickly and efficiently, swabbing the site with antiseptic, finding the vein and delivering the injection, then applying a clefairy-themed band-aid. There. That would keep Belle quiet for the next six or so hours.

It was already two o'clock in the afternoon. Dexio packed for both of them, which was easy—they were both traveling trainers and as such had little in the way of possessions; everything they owned could be carried by either themselves or their pokémon. Sina was left to pack for Belle, which was harder. The girl would be _living_ at Baa de Mer, though how long they'd be able to stand having her was another affair entirely.

She looked around Belle's bedroom, which looked as though a can of pink paint had vomited over everything. The walls were pink. The furniture was white with pink accents. The bedspread and pillows were pink. It felt like the inside of a dollhouse, and not in the awe-inspiring way of the Laverre City Gym—more like the designer had never actually met a pre-adolescent girl before and was just playing by stereotypes. Had Belle had a say in any of this? Sina doubted it.

Sina sighed and began rummaging through the dresser drawers. There was more pink here, as well as white and red, most of it in the form of frilly dresses. Sina searched harder, but the only pants she could find were pajama pants; Belle had no truly practical clothing. Eventually, Sina gave up and began stuffing dresses, pajamas, underwear, and socks into a garbage bag for transport, as well as toiletries.

Belle's dolls were absolutely pristine, lined up in regimented rows and neatly dressed in their miniature outfits. They didn't look as though they received a lot of playtime. The books on the little white bookshelf though... Sina thumbed through them, surprised by the tiny print and lack of pictures. These were books for adults, not children. Nevertheless, she selected five volumes that had the heaviest signs of wear from repeated reading and slipped them into the garbage bag as well. She found nothing else in the little room that looked as though Belle treasured it enough that she would want to take it with her.

"Ready to go?" Dexio asked.

"Yep," Sina answered, hefting the garbage bag onto her shoulder. She carried that, as well as her own and Dexio's backpacks, while Dexio picked up Belle's unconscious body in a fireman's carry.

"This is going to look weird," Dexio said, looking at Belle.

"Definitely," Sina agreed. "All we can do is hope nobody thinks we're kidnappers."

"In broad daylight?"

"Stranger things have happened, Dex."

"True, true. Kirlia, do you remember the monorail in Coumarine City?" The pokémon looked up at the sound of his name, his expression blank. He and Espeon had been with Dexio a long time and understood the human language fairly well, but place names and words for technology were baffling for most pokémon. Dexio tried again: "There was a place with a blue box on top of a steel line that had electricity inside it. People got inside the box, and the box moved on top of the line very fast. Do you remember that?"

Kirlia did his imitation of a human nod again.

"Okay. Can you use Teleport and take us there?"

Again, the nod, and Sina closed her eyes and braced herself. There was a noise like the air being turned inside out, and the downright _unnerving_ sensation of having every molecule of her body twisted apart and then put back together again. It was over before she could even think of how much she hated it.

"_What in Arceus' eyes?_" someone shrieked.

Sina opened her eyes again. She, Dexio, Belle, Kirlia, Espeon, Glaceon, and all of their accouterments were in front of the Coumarine City monorail station, surrounded by a crowd of shocked onlookers.

"They just appeared out of nowhere!" the same person said, stumbling away from them.

"Calm down, it's just a couple of trainers using Teleport," someone else said.

"Sorry to cause a stir," Dexio called out, waving cheerfully with his free hand to show he meant no harm. Kirlia hopped on top of his trainer's head and balanced there like a ballerina _en pointe_, using his psychokinetic powers to be as light as a puff of air. He'd always been a show-off. Sina ignored her research partner and looked around, smelling salt on the cold breeze that stirred her dark hair. To the west was the harbor, which meant they were at the northern end of the monorail—right where they wanted to be be. Sunlight glittered on the water, and a few wingull and pelipper flew overhead around the moored vessels.

She stepped away from the crowd, which was now dispersing (thankfully without commentary on the unconscious girl Dexio was carrying) and delved into her coat pocket for a pokéball. She released her mamoswine, which looked around and then grunted disapprovingly at the heat. Sina zipped her coat and resisted the urge to put on her gloves. To her, the February weather was uncomfortably chilly, but for the long-haired ice-type pokémon the temperature was downright balmy. She gave the pokémon a gentle scratch between the eyes, an itchy spot that he was always complaining about not being able to reach.

"Can you carry someone for a few hours for me?" Sina asked. She'd caught him as a piloswine in Frost Cavern after Glaceon—then an eevee—had decided on what to evolve into, and their relationship wasn't totally comfortable yet. Mamoswine respected her leadership and enjoyed traveling with her, but there were limits on what he was willing to do for his trainer.

Mamoswine thought for several moments, then grunted an agreement. He watched as Dexio walked over, but made no move to helpfully squat down as the male trainer draped a blanket over his back and then arranged Belle's body on top of it. The girl remained sitting upright even after Dexio took his hands away, which meant that one or both of his pokémon were using their powers to hold her in position. If it weren't for her closed eyes Sina would have thought she was awake and enjoying the ride, which would hopefully deter any awkward questions.

"Is there any chance that Mamoswine would like to carry our backpacks too?" Dexio asked.

Mamoswine gave a derisive grunt, and Sina shook her head. Dexio took his backpack with a small sigh. They then headed west, past the harbor, and from there onto Route 12. Mamoswine set the pace at a leisurely walk, which the humans and their other pokémon had no choice but to comply with.

Most traveling trainers did their journeying in summer, when school wasn't in session and the weather was at its most forgiving, but Sina and Dexio still saw a few other teenagers and adolescents walking with pokémon along the Route. Most were gracious when the duo turned down the offer to battle, but a few weren't.

"What do you mean, you won't battle me?" a twelve-year-old blonde demanded.

"Exactly what I said," Dexio answered. "We're not interested."

"_Well_," the girl huffed, then darted to the middle of the path. She planted her fists on her hips. "You can't pass me without a pokémon battle!"

Dexio heaved an overly-dramatic sigh. "If you insist," he said. Kirlia leaped down from the human's head and balanced in front of his trainer, radiating cool professionalism.

"Bellsprout, I choose you!" the twelve-year-old said, releasing the aforementioned pokémon from its ball.

"Are you _sure_ you want to use a grass and poison type against Kirlia?" Dexio asked. "It's not a very good match-up. I don't mind if you want to switch pokémon."

"Stop talking and _battle_ already," the girl growled. "Bellsprout, use Vine Whip!"

The girl's pokémon obeyed, but Kirlia was already using Teleport. He appeared in a flash of light behind the bellsprout, and his eyes glowed for an instant as he used a psychic-type attack. Bellsprout slumped to the ground, unconscious.

Dexio frowned at his pokémon. "You're supposed to wait and let me give you orders," he said reproachfully. Kirlia sniffed and hopped back on top of his head. The girl stared at her fainted pokémon for an instant, then returned it to its pokéball.

"The Coumarine City Gym specializes in grass-types," Dexio said gently. "You can learn about Bellsprout's strengths and weaknesses there, and how to work with—"

The girl was already storming away. Dexio rolled his eyes.

They continued for several more hours as the afternoon rolled towards evening. A few other battles were insisted upon, and each ended in a similar way. The sun drew towards the western horizon, its light growing ruddy and its warmth receding. Sina donned her hat and gloves. Dexio's psychic-type pokémon stayed close to their trainer with the onset of nightfall, though Sina's ice-types seemed to be enjoying the cold weather. Glaceon ranged far and wide, occasionally reappearing with a scratch that indicated tussles with wild pokémon.

"I heard the Professor talking about sending us to Alola," Dexio said.

"Really?" Sina asked, her mind whirling with images of sunlit beaches.

"Yes. Do you want to come, or do you think we should sit this one out?"

Sina opened her mouth to reply, then closed it again. She glanced at Mamoswine, who plodded steadily along at her side. Half her team wouldn't be able to endure the hot weather in Alola, and she didn't want to leave anyone behind.

"I... I'll need to think about it," she said.

"I won't go without you," Dexio said.

"Thanks."

The conversation trailed off as they drew towards a large wooden gate. Hung above it was a sign that read BAA DE MER RANCH. A woman was waiting beneath it with a furfrou sitting beside her.

"Hi," she said as they drew near, "are you Sycamore's assistants?"

"Yes," Dexio said.

"I'm Georgina, Ramos' granddaughter. Is that who I'm supposed to look after?" She nodded towards the sleeping Belle.

"That's her," Dexio agreed.

"I can take her from here." The woman was already walking towards them and plucking Belle from Mamoswine's back as though she weighed nothing. Dexio helped arrange her so that Belle was being carried piggyback, and the woman walked through the gate and towards the rambling ranch house a hundred meters or so down the path. Furfrou trotted behind her, carrying the garbage bag in its mouth.

Dexio sighed in relief. "I'm so glad that's over and done with," he said. "Kirlia, could you Teleport us to Sycamore's lab?"

* * *

Fifteen minutes later, unwinding in the lobby of the lab with mugs of hot cocoa, Sina warmed her fingers and silently wished Belle happiness. Maybe living at Baa de Mer would bring the girl peace from Lysandre. Maybe she would learn how to have friends and grow up into a normal teenager. Maybe.

* * *

Fifteen minutes later, in the darkness outside of the ranch house, a pair of eyes watched from a clump of bushes as Georgina tucked Belle into bed.


	3. The First Hour

Belle recovered from the tranquilizers during the night. When she became relatively conscious she felt groggy and disoriented. She recognized she was in a bed and tried to sit up and get to her feet, and ended up flopping out of the bed and onto the floor. Someone with a soothing voice and strong hands helped her back under the covers and tucked her in again.

"Father?" Belle mumbled. "I'm so sorry, Father." The room was dark and the words came out of her mouth slurred together. The figure standing beside her smoothed her hair and murmured something gently, then left. Reassured, Belle snuggled under the sheets and fell into a natural sleep.

* * *

Belle woke up again sometime in the morning. The first thing she did was look towards the digital clock on her nightstand, but it wasn't there. Instead, there was a vase of faded plastic flowers. She knew the time because there was sunlight streaming in through the window.

Belle narrowed her eyes. Her bedroom didn't have a window.

The room she was in wasn't her bedroom. It was brown and blue, not pink and white, with paneled walls and shiny hardwood floors. There was a blue quilt with a white star pattern covering her, rather than a pink duvet, and under her head the pillowcase was white with little blue flowers rather than solid pink. On the wall there was a wooden clock with a carved chatot sitting on top of it. Beneath it was a rocking chair. Opposite the bed there was a dresser with a lamp. Those were the only furnishings in the small room.

Belle looked around for a few moments more, trying to see any cameras. She knew where the one in her real bedroom was, up high in the corner where she couldn't reach it. Not even Father knew that she knew about it; it was tiny as a button and painted pink to hide it against the wall. But she couldn't see anything here.

Maybe those two older kids were trying to confuse her by putting her here. Maybe it was some sort of trick, to make her think she wasn't being watched. Belle lay still with her eyes closed, listening, but couldn't hear any people noises. There were the sounds of bird pokémon calling outside the window, but none of the muffled traffic that was normal in Lumiose City.

Outside the window, something barked. Belle's eyes flew open.

A furfrou was outside the window looking in at her. It was standing on its hind legs with its front paws planted on the glass, wagging its tail. Its tongue lolled out of its mouth. It gave another deep bark and danced in place, seemingly happy to see her.

The door burst open. "Furfrou!" a woman bellowed, "Get down from there!"

The furfrou dropped down from the window with a whine, then raced away across the patchy lawn.

The woman looked at Belle. She was tall, with short brown hair that stuck up at odd angles. She was wearing jeans, a stained blue tank-top that showed off her muscular arms, and muddy boots. "Sorry about that," she said. "I was going to let you sleep longer, but Furfrou could break the window if she puts her paws on it too hard."

"Who are _you_?" Belle demanded.

"My name's Georgina, but you can call me George. My grandfather is Ramos, the Gym Leader in Coumarine City. I run Baa de Mer Ranch, which is where you are now. You seemed really, uh, confused last night."

"They gave me drugs to make me sleep."

"...Oh."

"Are _you_ going to drug me?"

George shook her head. "We don't keep tranquilizers here, for humans or pokémon. What I was told to do was feed you, give you a place to live, and keep you safe. The only rule is that you're not allowed to leave the ranch."

Belle narrowed her eyes. She wasn't sure whether to believe this 'George'. It _felt_ like she was telling the truth, but Belle's intuition had been wrong before. The older girl named Sina had seemed nice, but she and her friend had kept her drugged most of the time so that whole weeks seemed to pass in just a day. Her mind felt clear now, not foggy and confused, and she knew better than to trust this strange woman.

"Breakfast is pancakes," George said, "kitchen is right down the hall. Join me?" She cocked her head to one side, but when Belle didn't immediately respond she left the bedroom. She limped very slightly when she walked, favoring her right leg.

Belle watched her close the door behind her, then swung her feet out from under the covers and stood up. The mattress creaked loudly as she shifted her weight, which Belle noticed and filed away. It would be hard to be sneaky at night with a bed like that. Her dress was rumpled and smelled a little bit from wearing it more than a day, which made her wrinkle her nose; where were her clothes? She poked around in the dresser, but it was empty. She noticed a garbage bag lying at the foot of the bed with some pink fabric peeking out of the top, and delved into it. _Here_ was where those two kids had put her things! In a _garbage bag!_

Internally, Belle was seething with rage as she changed clothes. How dare they treat her possessions this way! Who did they think they were, pawing through her things and choosing what to leave and what to take? What had they done with the rest of her stuff? Belle chose a red princess dress with short sleeves and a knee-length hem, red socks, and black mary jane shoes. When she was ready she stepped out into the hall, sniffed the air, and followed the smells of butter and sugar to the kitchen.

George nodded a greeting and indicated a plate with a stack of pancakes topped with syrup and chopped strawberries. "That's yours," she said. Belle watched her make a second stack of pancakes, put it onto another plate, and then took that one instead to the table. George didn't comment as she took the first plate and sat down opposite her.

"You haven't told me your name yet," the woman pointed out.

"You don't need to know it," Belle snapped, spearing a piece of pancake with her fork.

"What am I supposed to call you then? Red?"

"Red?"

"Your hair's red and your dress is red." George shrugged. "Why not?"

"...My name is Belle," Belle said, glaring.

"Nice name."

Belle sniffed and continued eating. The pancakes actually tasted good, which annoyed her, because this woman was _ugly_. She didn't wear makeup or style her hair, and she wore stained and dirty clothing like some kind of tramp. Father would despise her. There would be no place in the New World for women like this one; she shouldn't be allowed to exist.

"So," George said, "I've got to do chores after this. Can you wash the dishes for me?"

"No."

"Okay," George said, and went back to finishing her pancakes. Belle watched her carefully, but the woman seeming totally unruffled. She finished her meal and started the washing up without comment, moving quickly and efficiently. She put the dishes away and dried her hands, then turned back to Belle.

"I'm going out to milk the skiddo now," she said, "Do you want to help or even just tag along?"

"No."

"Alright." Again, she seemed unruffled by the refusal, and turned away to put on a ragged-looking coat hanging from a hook by the door. Belle watched her leave and listened as the door closed behind her, and felt a knot in her chest loosen. She relaxed her tight grip on her fork and let out a shuddering sigh. Several seconds passed, and the silence in the ranch house was broken only by the ticking of the clock. Belle eventually got down from her seat and started to explore the house.

The ranch house had one single, sprawling story that rambled along what seemed like dozens of narrow, curving passageways that opened suddenly to various rooms. There was the kitchen, which had a food preparation area and a tiny eating area, and then the dining room that had a big table with 17 chairs (Belle counted, just to be sure) one of which was broken, as well as a pantry lined with shelves full of cans and jars. Further down the maze of hallways was a massive living room with a big TV, a dusty sitting room full of ancient-looking furniture, and two bathrooms with claw-footed bathtubs. Everything in the house was a gentle blend of antique and modern, as though nothing was ever thrown away so long as it retained even the tiniest vestiges of usefulness. It was a good place to play hide-and-seek in, and Belle felt something like happiness as she trotted down the hallways, opening doors as she pleased to peek inside. There were _nine_ bedrooms in total, though only two of them looked like someone actually slept there regularly. One was the room Belle was in, and the other was about the same size, but with a green-and-brown theme rather than blue-and-brown.

This was George's room. There was a bed, a desk piled high with papers and a laptop, a chair, a bookshelf full of worn-looking paperbacks about horticulture and raising various pokémon, and a dresser. Tacked to the walls were posters of metal and rock bands depicting people with too many piercings wearing leather clothing. Belle stood in the doorway for several seconds, taking it all in, then made a combee-line for the laptop.

She booted it up, and it opened (without any password protection) to an email account. There was a long list of emails from a person named Val, full of boring lovey-dovey stuff, as well more interesting emails from another person named Ramos. The name caught Belle's eye, and she clicked on the latest one.

* * *

_Dear Georgina,_

_I still think gettin the mareep is a bad idea. I've told you why 1000 times_—_don't make me do it all again._

_Your gonna be gettin a guest at the ranch soon. Sycamore's assistants are bringing her over. She's to stay with you until I give word otherwise. Don't let her leave the ranch. Otherwise just be kind to her, as I know you'll be._

_Best,_

_Pappy Ramos_

* * *

Belle read the email several times, thinking. So George knew nothing about her—not her name, not her father, not that she was born and raised in Lumiose City, nothing. She browsed through the rest of the laptop, but everything else was boring stuff with spreadsheets about types of feed, expenses, medication doses for different pokémon, etc.

Belle left George's room and wandered back to her own, where she half-heartedly made her bed. She didn't really want to, but Father had always made her keep her room tidy. It was a good habit to carry into adulthood, he'd said, and good training for being a model citizen of the New World. She also put her clothes away in the dresser, her toiletries in one of the drawers of the nightstand, and her books on top of the dresser. That emptied the despicable garbage bag and left her with nothing to do.

She looked out the window and saw three furfrou playing on the lawn. She watched them for a while, until one of the pokémon saw her. It gave a deep, resonating bark of joy and raced over to her, rearing up on its hind legs so that its front paws crashed into the window. The glass rattled in the frame, and Belle jumped back in shock. She backed away from the window as the furfrou whined and scrabbled at the glass, trying to get to her, then left the room.

_Don't let her leave the ranch_, the email had said. What was beyond the ranch?

Belle stopped dead in the hallway. Father. They were all afraid of her reaching her father.


	4. Luna

Belle ran through the house, skittering across rugs and thundering down hallways, before arriving at the front door. She flung it open and pounded down the steps, then sprinted along the path leading to Route 12. Father! He was the key to everything! She needed to get to her father! She would reach him, and free him, and everything would be okay! The wooden gate was almost within reach...

A furfrou streaked past her and stood between her and the gate, barking madly. It was joined by two others. They didn't snarl or growl, but all three barked and kept their bodies between Belle and freedom. When she tried to move past them, they moved too, and continued to block her path.

"What's all this noise about?" George demanded, walking out of the barn with a full milk pail in either hand. The furfrou instantly went silent, although they remained blocking the girl.

"_Make them stop!_" Belle shrieked. "_Let me go!_"

"Go where?" George asked.

"_I need to get to my father! Now!_"

George sighed and set down the pails to plant her hands on her hips. "You can't leave the ranch now, Belle," she said. "How about... how about you write your dad a letter? We can mail it to him, and he can write back to you."

"That isn't _enough_," Belle snapped. "I need to _see_ him."

"Maybe he can visit in the future," George said, "but not right now. Where is your dad, anyway?"

"He's... He's in..." the word 'prison' caught in Belle's throat. "...I don't know," she said at last in a very small voice, which was true. All Sina or anyone else had told her was that Father had gone to prison for trying to create the New World. They had never said _where_ exactly.

"So where were you planning to go?" George asked.

Belle said nothing.

George sighed and picked up the milk pails again. "I need to put this in the pasteurizer," she said. "How about you come with me?"

Belle hesitated, but when George turned around and started to walk away the girl trotted after her. The three furfrou followed at a walk, once more friendly and inquisitive pokémon rather than fierce guardians. George headed to a small outbuilding attached to the side of the massive red barn, propping the door open with half a brick so that Belle could come in after her. Inside, the room was dominated by a huge machine.

"This," George said, setting down the pails with a sigh of relief and patting the stainless steel behemoth, "is our pasteurizer. Milk goes in here—" she pointed to a funnel, "—and is filtered, then heated in that tank over there to kill any bacteria, then comes out of this tap—" she gestured to a steel spigot, "—here to be bottled and sent to the creameries in Coumarine and Shalour City." She started pouring the milk into the funnel, humming tunelessly to herself. Belle watched, but nothing interesting happened. The pasteurizer wasn't a terribly complex machine like the ones Xerosic had built; it had only one button, to turn it on and off, and not a single dial or flashing light.

"Have you ever milked a skiddo before?" George asked.

"No."

"Do you want to try?"

Belle wrinkled her nose. "No."

"Don't have much of a sense of adventure, do you?"

Belle crossed her arms over her chest. "Milking skiddo is icky," she said.

"How do you know if you've never tried it?"

"Because I _know_," Belle said, though really she had no idea.

"Alright," George said, making a face like she was trying not to smile. Belle glared. "I'm not finished milking yet," the woman added, picking up the now-empty pails and heading back to the barn. Belle followed her warily, but checked in the doorway.

The barn was a massive, aging structure, drafty but serviceable. The floor was straw-covered concrete, but everything else was unfinished wood. There was a central aisle lined with box stalls, some small and some large, as well as an actual room in the back for feed storage. George walked in with the unconscious confidence of long familiarity, but Belle hesitated; this was utterly new to her. She scuffed the straw with one foot and then stood on one leg to inspect her shoe, but found nothing out of the ordinary. When one of the furfrou gave her a reassuring lick on the hand, she yelped and shied away from the pokémon.

"Everything okay?" George asked.

"_No_," Belle said. "This place is _dirty_ and I don't like it."

"Huh," George said. "I swept all the crap out two days ago."

Belle winced at the word 'crap'. Pokémon _went to the bathroom_ in here? On the _floor_? That was obscene! Her sylveon had been trained to use a litter box like a normal house-pokémon. But these weren't normal house-pokémon, were they? They were skiddo. Belle had seen them bouncing along the streets of Lumiose City with humans on their backs, but Father had never allowed one inside the penthouse.

George whistled. A skiddo trotted in behind Belle, making the girl jump aside in her haste to get away, and went to where George was sitting on a three-legged stool beside a stanchion. The pokémon went up the plank, trustingly put its head through the restraints, and began eating the compacted alfalfa pellets in the offered bucket. George wiped the Skiddo's udder with a solution of hot soapy water, then dried it off and started milking, once again humming tunelessly to herself. Belle, watching the woman's hands working the pokémon's teats and hearing the milk hiss into the pail, went red. Touching a pokémon's... a pokémon's you-know-what, was _utterly inappropriate_. Belle wanted to melt into the floor. She turned away before she had to watch any more of this display of obscenity.

"Milking by hand takes a long time," George said, completely ignoring Belle's internal meltdown, "but it reinforces the bond between farmer and pokémon. There are no electric milking machines on Baa de Mer, and some of our customers say that the milk tastes sweeter because of it."

"Your milk is _gross_," Belle said.

George sighed. "It isn't," she said, finally starting to sound annoyed.

"_I don't like it_," Belle retorted, her voice starting to increase in volume.

Something in the barn baa'ed in distress at her tone. Belle's head whipped towards the noise, her eyes widening.

"There, you're upsetting the pokémon," George grumbled. "Go apologize to Luna."

"Luna?" Belle echoed.

George jerked her head towards one of the stalls, and Belle slowly walked towards it. She stood on tip-toe to peer over the door, and saw a skiddo.

The pokémon was obviously elderly. The brown parts of its thick fur were heavily streaked with gray, and the leaves growing on its shoulders and back were wilting and curling at the ends. Its eyes were cloudy with cataracts, but it turned its head towards Belle. "Do? Skid?" it said in an inquiring tone.

"That's Luna," George said. One pail was now full of milk, and the bucket of alfalfa pellets was empty. The younger skiddo backed out of the stanchion's restraints and trotted out of the barn. George refilled the bucket, then whistled again. The next skiddo walked into the barn and went straight to the stanchion.

"Is she a girl?" Belle asked.

"Yep. She was abused by a trainer before she came to Baa de Mer thirty-some years ago. She doesn't like it when people shout."

Belle guiltily chewed her lip for a moment. "I'm sorry," she whispered. Luna's ears turned towards her, and the pokémon resumed chewing her cud. She lay in the stall on a bed of straw with her legs tucked under her, apparently content.

"She has Cushing's disease," George added.

"What's that?"

"It's a disease that affects both humans and older pokémon. In mammalian pokémon it makes their hair grow too much. There are some brushes and combs in the back room over there; how about you brush Luna and get rid of that extra hair for her? I'm sure she'd appreciate it."

Belle opened her mouth to refuse, then closed it again. As George started milking the next skiddo, Belle went to the room at the end of the barn. It was filled with metal trash cans that turned out to be containers for grain and alfalfa pellets, and there was a shelf covered with grooming equipment—including combs. Belle selected one and then let herself into Luna's stall, cautiously approaching the old pokémon. She gingerly reached out with the comb and touched Luna's flank. When the skiddo didn't react she lightly stroked the comb down Luna's side. Still, no reaction.

Belle began combing in earnest, moving slowly and being careful not to pull at knots and tangles. She stroked the coarse fur with her fingers as she went, unconsciously covering her palms and fingers with dust and dirt. She got under the leaves where the bushy vines sprouted from the skiddo's skin, pulling out tufts of old hair that had been trapped under them. Though the girl didn't notice, Luna relaxed under her gentle touch. Belle startled when the skiddo stretched out her arthritic legs, moving to lie on her side, but after a moment's hesitation she started again, now working on the finer hair covering her belly. The comb was soon full of old hair, and Belle had to pluck it out from the comb's teeth so that there was room to work.

George looked over the edge of the stall, smiled approvingly, and went back to milking.

"Why is she called Luna?" Belle asked eventually.

"It's what her original trainer named her. We managed to get custody of her following the trial, and—"

"What trial?" Belle demanded, thinking of her father.

"Luna was abused, remember? Someone saw her trainer hitting her with a stick because she lost a battle, and he was arrested and put on trial for attacking his pokémon. He was found guilty and had his pokémon and training license taken away because of it. But they had to find new homes for all the pokémon he had, and Luna's home became Baa de Mer."

"Do you _milk_ her?" Belle asked, saying the word 'milk' the way other people might say 'murder'.

"Not anymore," George answered, "she's too old now."

"But you used to?"

"Yes."

"_Ew_."

"You know that all the milk you drink comes from pokémon, don't you?"

Belle paused, and her eyes widened as realization set in. George couldn't help it and laughed as Belle's face screwed up in a grimace of disgust.

"_It's not funny!_" Belle shrieked.

"Skid! Skid! Do!" Luna baa'ed.

"Sorry, sorry..." Belle said, stroking the pokémon's side until she calmed down again. She glared at George over the edge of the stall. "It's not funny," she repeated in a normal voice.

"Okay, fine," George said. "But all milk _does_ come from pokémon."

"What about coconut milk? Or almond milk?"

"Alright, so there are some exceptions—"

"You're a _liar_," Belle said, looking smug. "You told a _lie_."

"Kid, you are the most infuriating person I've ever dealt with aside from real estate agents and lawyers."


	5. Down and Up

By the time Belle finished combing Luna, there was a pile of shed hair next to her that was larger than her head. The old pokémon was definitely enjoying herself, tilting her head from side to side so that the young girl could reach the spots around her horns and under her chin. Belle was actually enjoying herself as well. Her sylveon had never taken such obvious pleasure in being groomed, and being able to provide the sensation would have made her smile if she wasn't concentrating so hard. She was totally ignoring George, who had made several trips to and from the pasteurizer and was almost finished milking the skiddo herd, and was frowning at Luna's hooves.

"Why are her feet so big?" Belle demanded.

George craned her neck to peer over the edge of the stall. "Her hooves need to be trimmed," the woman observed. "She doesn't walk around much anymore, so they don't get worn down the way a younger skiddo's would. I can do it as soon as I finish milking."

"When will you be done?"

"Right about... now," George answered, standing up from her stool with a wince and stretching her back. The last skiddo backed off the stanchion, baa'ed a greeting to Luna, and then skipped out of the barn. George went into the back room and retrieved a pair of hoof trimmers, then let herself into Luna's stall.

"G'morning, old girl," she said, giving the pokémon a scratch between the horns that made Luna's eyes slide shut with bliss. Belle's lips pursed in jealousy. Luna stretched her legs out, silently displaying her overgrown hooves. Belle fidgeted, fighting the urge to get between George and Luna.

"Yeah, yeah, I should have done this _weeks_ ago," George said, possibly to Luna and possibly to herself. She sat down on the dusty barn floor, pulled one foot into her lap, and started trimming. Belle watched anxiously.

"Be careful!" the girl said.

"I'd never hurt her," George promised. "She'll be fine. Now—watch closely—start with cleaning off all the caked dirt so you can see what you're doing. You see how she has a split hoof that's in two parts, rather than a single one like a ponyta? skiddo and gogoat hooves are supposed to be like that. If they don't get worn down naturally, the two parts of the hoof grow inward over each other, which provides a nice little cavity where the bacteria that cause hoof rot can live. That's bad. Luna's hooves haven't done that yet, but we can trim them down so that she's more comfortable walking. Just take little slivers off the wall of the hoof one at a time; taking off big chunks might make her bleed. Try to give the front a nice, rounded shape—"

"It's like a pedicure," Belle said.

George snorted a laugh. "My girlfriend would love that," she said, grinning, "pokémon pedicures..." She looked over at Belle, but the girl, thinking she was being mocked, had drawn away. Her expression of rapt attentiveness had faded, to be replaced by her usual one of suspicion. She moved to Luna's other side and gave George a sullen glare.

George coughed. "Sorry," she said, suddenly awkward. "I'll just, um... The toes grow faster than the heel, so you need to..." but the magic had gone out of the lesson, and it was clear that Belle was no longer in the mood to learn. George finished Luna's hooves in silence, then put the hoof trimmers away.

"Lunch is in two hours," she said. Belle was still kneeling in Luna's stall, giving the elderly pokémon the attention and human affection she craved. She looked up at the sound of George's voice but otherwise didn't respond.

"You can... do what you want, I guess," the woman said, shrugging.

"Except leave the ranch," Belle pointed out.

"Yeah, except that," George agreed.

"So I actually _can't_ do what I want," Belle said, narrowing her eyes.

"Well, if you don't know where you want to go, why are you in such a hurry to leave? You're not gonna find many other places with free room and board."

"I want to be away from _you_," Belle said, "because you're _ugly_."

George sighed, shook her head, and left the barn. Belle watched her go with narrowed eyes, but her gaze softened when she turned back to Luna. She shifted closer to the old pokémon and did the same scratch between the horns that she had seen George do, which produced the same result.

"I hate her," Belle whispered, but without much venom.

Luna turned her head towards the girl and blinked her cataract-clouded eyes. "Do-do-skid," she said.

"She's mean _and_ ugly," Belle whispered. Luna lightly shook the girl's hand off her head and turned away. Belle watched her for a moment, but the old skiddo only laid down her head in the straw and closed her eyes.

Belle stood up, feeling as though she was being dismissed, and happened to look down at herself. Bits of dust, straw, and skiddo hair clung to the front of her dress, and her palms and the insides of her fingers were coated with a sticky brown film of dirt picked up from Luna's hair. The girl grimaced in disgust and brushed herself off, which got rid of the larger pieces of straw but transferred some of the dirt on her hands to her clothes. She looked down in dismay at the new stains that had appeared, then went back to the ranch house to change.

She washed her hands in one of the bathrooms, wiped off her shoes with the hand towel next to the sink, then returned to what she was already starting to think of as her new room. She delved into the dresser and selected a white dress with lots of ruffles and red lace, which Father had said made her look like a Team Flare Admin. Belle did a little twirl at the foot of the bed to make the skirt flare out, smiled to herself, then left the the bedroom.

George was in her own room, frowning at a spreadsheet on her laptop screen. Belle stood in the doorway and cleared her throat.

"My clothes are dirty," the girl announced, holding up the stained red dress.

"Washing machine's downstairs," George replied, not looking up.

"_You_ need to wash it," Belle said.

"You're not a baby; you can do it yourself."

"_I want you to wash my clothes_."

"Nope," George said. She clicked on something, then stood up from her desk and walked over to Belle. She really was very tall, and loomed over the ten-year-old as she put her fists on her hips. "Wash it yourself," she repeated mildly, then shut the door in Belle's face and locked it. Belle shrieked and pounded the door with her fists, but there was no further reply from within. She kicked the door as hard as she could, which hurt her toes a little bit but produced no other result. She huffed at the wooden barrier, then stomped to the door in the kitchen that opened to a set of steps leading downward.

This was a part of the house that Belle hadn't explored. The stairway was dark, but there was a light switch within arm's reach of the door. Belle flicked it, and a bulb at the base of the stairs flickered to life. It illuminated a bare concrete floor and a wall made of cinder blocks. Belle slowly took one step downward. The stairs creaked under her foot. She gritted her teeth and took another, then another, then another after that, and kept going until she was finally at the end of the stairway. The air here was colder than the rest of the house, and goosebumps prickled down her bare arms.

"Hello?" Belle called.

There was no answer. Belle shivered and looked around, and saw a washer and dryer several meters away against a wall, next to a shelf full of cleaning supplies. She darted out of the circle of light and quickly opened the washer's lid, threw her dress inside, and then stood back.

What next?

The washer had several different settings. 'Bedding/bulky' was wrong, and 'cold clean' probably was too; Belle knew you had to take a bath with hot water to get clean, not cold, because hot water was the kind that killed germs. She chewed her lip and fiddled with the different cycles, eventually selecting 'delicates', then hesitated. Where was the soap? She looked at the shelf of cleaning supplies, but nothing looked especially promising aside from several different types of stain remover. She selected the one that had a picture of a shirt on the label, dumped half the bottle into the washing machine, then had an idea.

Belle ran upstairs, grabbed the bottle of liquid hand soap from one of the bathrooms, then returned to the cellar. She upended the bottle and used the pump to squirt a hearty amount into the machine.

The light flickered at the base of the stairs, and a sudden draft of cold air made her shiver. Belle looked over her shoulder but saw nothing.

The lid slammed shut on the washing machine, almost catching Belle's fingers. The girl shrieked and jumped back as the machine rattled, its lights coming to life. The dial spun to 'hot clean' and the light next to the 'extra rinse' button came on.

"_Stop it! Stop it!_" Belle yelled, jumping up and down in dismay. She kicked the machine, which made something _bang_ inside as loudly as a gunshot. A jolt of static electricity raced through her body from where her toe had made contact with the washer, numbing her leg. Belle screamed in fright and sat down hard, then pulled herself backwards as the washing machine shook. Water sloshed inside it. Puffs of steam escaped around the edge of the lid. Belle forced herself to stand and raced up the stairs, not bothering to turn off the light. She slammed the cellar door shut behind her and leaned against it, panting in the bright sunlight streaming in through the kitchen windows.

"Hey," George said, leaning her head around the corner, "I can't find the soap in the bathroom. Also, did you meet Rotom?"

Belle burst into tears and ran out of the house. She went to the barn, but Luna had wandered out of her stall (which had been left open) and was nowhere to be found. She cried a tiny bit there, but now that the fright was over Belle was already calming down. She wiped her eyes on the back of her hand and saw, in the very back corner of the barn, a narrow staircase leading upwards.

The girl hesitated a moment, then went to it.

The barn was very quiet, but there was a light source somewhere up above that meant the staircase wasn't in shadow. The steps were made of unfinished wooden planks, but they didn't creak under Belle's feet as she walked up them. She emerged into the barn's hayloft, which was filled with stacked bales. Light filtered through the dusty air from cracks in the walls.

[go away,] a voice said.

Belle flinched. The silence in the barn remained undisturbed, but she had definitely heard a voice.

[we said, go away,] the voice repeated. Then: [you are not welcome here.]

"Who's there?" Belle asked, and immediately regretted it. The silence in the barn now had a hostile edge.

[we are meowstic. we do not like humans. you should leave.]

"But, you live in a barn built by humans," Belle pointed out. The edge of hostility sharpened.

[this barn is our home. we tolerate the human who uses the lower level. that human shows us respect and leaves us alone... unlike you. this is your last warning.]

Belle planted her fists on her hips in unconscious imitation of George, then narrowed her eyes. She scanned the hayloft, but there were no pokémon to be seen. Maybe they were hiding behind the bales? "No," she said. "I _won't_ leave. I don't like you."

"Esp... purr?" something said. There was a rustling noise near a hay bale close to Belle's foot, and a small, bipedal gray kitten peeked out at her. The noise it made was accompanied by the sensation of an alien consciousness lightly touching her own, which didn't have the refined, clear edge of the meowstic. Instead of a clear voice 'speaking' to Belle, all that the girl could detect was a gentle, fearless inquisitiveness probing at her mind.

The espurr was _adorable_. Belle smiled and knelt down, reaching out a hand to the pokémon. "Hi," she said softly.

[_**GET OUT!**_]

The mental shout was accompanied by a psychic blast that lifted Belle up her feet and threw her down the stairs. Her head hit the barn wall, and Belle knew no more.


	6. Mareep in the Mail

"Why _in Arceus' name _would you do that? She's just a little kid; you had absolutely no right—"

[i had _every_ right. i told her thrice and again to leave, and she did not. it was my right—]

"_Shut up_. Belle is my guest on Baa de Mer, and she's to be treated gently and respectfully. I told you this before she arrived. You're telepathic; tell me how angry I am right now."

[...do not mock me.]

"This isn't mockery. This is me being _absolutely enraged_ that you _threw a child down the stairs_ because she said hello to Espurr. Tell me why I shouldn't call the pokémon rangers right now and have you driven off my farm. Tell me."

[...because she is only mildly concussed. because she is waking up right now.]

"Belle? Belle, can you hear me, honey?" Someone lightly touched Belle's face, smoothing her hair and gently patting her cheeks, and Belle's eyes fluttered open. She peered up into George's concerned face, then winced at the bright light streaming in through the dusty barn window behind the woman. It seemed to be sending lancets of pain through Belle's eyes to her brain.

"Belle?" George said. Her voice was too loud and seemed to reverberate along the inside of Belle's skull. The girl winced again and covered her ears with her hands.

George drew back and pulled out her Holo-Caster from a pocket of her cargo pants. "I'm calling the hospital," she said, "you need to get your head checked."

"_No_," Belle said, at the same time that Meowstic projected [the concussion is not severe]. The psychic-type pokémon stood to one side, watching the scene with cool yellow eyes and flanked by two espurr. Hanging back was a male meowstic, darker-colored and quieter compared to the female.

[i am sorry you were hurt,] he projected into Belle's mind. Unlike George, who spoke aloud, the telepathic 'voice' didn't hurt. [my mate is very protective of our offspring.]

The female meowstic was still conversing with George. The male picked up her projections and relayed them to Belle's mind for the girl to hear: [—can detect no permanent damage. there is nothing that cannot be healed with several days of rest.]

"How am I supposed to trust you after what you just did?" George demanded, her voice soft but filled with carefully controlled anger.

[i am aggressive, vengeful, and easily offended,] the female meowstic projected, [but i do not lie.]

George's shoulders slumped. "I know," she said. "But just to be on the safe side—"

"I don't wanna go to the hospital," Belle said. "I'm _fine_." The room spun as she sat up, but Belle propped herself up on her arms until the dizzy spell passed. She was pale and breathing shallowly, and there was a throbbing pain in the back of her head. Several bruises were already darkening along her shoulder and back from where her body had made contact with the staircase.

"Honey, you're not fine," George said gently. "I can see it."

"_I don't wanna go to the hospital_," Belle repeated, speaking loudly even though it hurt. Memories flooded her mind of doctors taking blood samples, forcing her through CAT scans and not explaining what was happening, injecting her with long needles that _hurt_ and then sedating her when she tried to fight them off. She remembered Father shaking his head in disappointment and telling her that she needed to be a good girl and comply with the experiment Xerosic was conducting, of giving her back to the Team Flare scientists when she had run to him for protection from them. The male meowstic relayed this flood of memories to George, who flinched at their intensity.

The woman let out a shaky breath and nodded. "Okay, okay, no hospital," she said, "but you need to take it easy for the next couple of days."

"Where's Luna?" Belle asked.

"You left her stall open, so she wandered outside. She's just grazing on the front lawn, though; she's fine. Do you want to hang out with her for a bit?"

"Yeah."

"Can you walk to her by yourself?"

Belle slowly got to her feet, feeling dizzy and a little bit sick to her stomach. George put a hand on her shoulder and walked with her through the barn and out into the weak February sunshine. Luna was nibbling on the dry winter grass next to a small building made of what looked like windows. It was constructed out of a metal frame with lots of squares, and the squares had been filled with panes of cloudy glass. A lot of them were broken. Next to the building was an ancient, gnarled oak tree.

One of the many furfrou that roamed Baa de Mer apparently at will raced over to Belle and George, whining in concern and sniffing the girl. It was larger than the others Belle had seen and wore a red collar.

"That's Roland, the leader of the furfrou pack," George said. "He ran to get me when he heard you fall."

Belle patted the furfrou's head, and Roland wagged his tail.

"Thanks," the girl said. Roland licked her hand, and the girl made a face but didn't pull away from him.

Luna baa'ed a greeting when she saw the two humans approaching, and took several short, tottering steps towards them before all but collapsing onto her side. Roland went to her and sniffed her for damage before returning to George, who waited anxiously nearby as Belle slowly sat down next to the elderly skiddo. Luna put her head in Belle's lap, once again eager to be petted, and Belle smiled in surprised delight before obliging her.

George watched them for several minutes, frowned at how Belle was squinting in the sunshine, and went to the ranch house. She returned several minutes later with a pair of sunglasses and offered them to Belle, then sat down beside her after the girl put them on.

"I hate Meowstic," Belle whined.

"She can definitely be difficult to deal with," George said, speaking quietly for the sake of Belle's concussion, "but she was just trying to protect her children."

"She shouldn't be allowed to live here. You should get the pokémon rangers to make her go away."

George blinked in surprise, thinking, then said: "She helps protect the farm. The furfrou pack keeps wild pokémon away, but they won't behave aggressively towards people. Meowstic is different from them, and if someone comes to the farm who doesn't belong here, like a thief trying to steal Luna, then she'd attack them to make them leave. It's true that she's not a nice pokémon, but she helps a lot and only asks to be left alone in the loft."

Belle was silent for a time, petting Luna. Roland flopped onto the grass next to George and rolled around on his back, trying to scratch the itchy spots along his spine.

"Was Meowstic abused like Luna? Is that why she doesn't like people?" Belle asked.

"I don't know. She came here when I was very young, and she doesn't talk to me much. She doesn't like me either."

Belle made a face. "She doesn't like _anyone_. She's _mean_."

George chuckled. "Yep, she is. But Meowstic has her place on Baa de Mer, and I'll make sure she doesn't hurt you again... which doesn't mean you can go and antagonize her, okay? You should leave Meowstic and her family alone."

"I'll _never_ talk to Meowstic again," Belle said. "I _don't_ like her."

Luna, who had been wriggling in delight at having the bases of her horns scratched, froze at the anger in Belle's voice. "Do? Skid?" she said. Belle cuddled her head and murmured reassurances until the pokémon relaxed again. George watched her.

"So you're afraid of doctors, huh?" the woman said.

Belle nodded. "I don't like it when they do experiments on me," she said.

George took a deep breath. "...Why would they do that?"

"Father says they did them to make sure I was perfect."

"Perfect?"

Belle nodded seriously. "They said..." she frowned and thought for a moment, then continued: "They said that some people are carriers for genetic diseases, even though they don't have the genetic diseases themselves, or else have a predisposition for certain diseases and conditions. I don't have any of those things. I'm perfect. They made me in a lab."

"...Oh. Well, that's really... shit, kid, I don't know what to—sorry, I shouldn't curse in front of you." George sighed and stared up at the sky, thinking, then looked back at Belle. The girl was still petting Luna, but she was also watching George out of the corner of her eye.

"Are you okay?" George asked.

"...Meowstic said I have a concussion."

"Yeah, yeah, that's like a bruise on your brain, but I meant... like, emotionally, are you okay?"

"I miss Father a lot. He always knew what to do. He liked me, I think." Belle frowned in concentration. "I think he liked me," she repeated. "Does your father like you?"

"Yeah, he did," George agreed. "He died when I was little, though. Him and my mom, in a car accident. My grandparents raised me here on Baa de Mer."

"My father's in prison," Belle blurted.

"I'm sorry. Do you want a hug?"

"No."

"Okay."

George leaned back and watched the clouds for a little while. Belle petted Luna, shivering a little bit in the cold February breeze. After several minutes George stood up, groaning softly as her back popped. "I'm gonna bring you a jacket," she announced. "Can you remember to put Luna in her stall when you're ready to come inside?"

"You should do it," Belle said.

"That means she has to go back _now_. Is that okay?"

Belle hesitated a moment, then nodded. She walked back to the ranch house with Roland while George picked up Luna and carried her into the barn. The furfrou stuck close to her, whining softly when Belle needed to pause because of a dizzy spell, and accompanied her up the porch steps and all the way to the door. He wagged his tail encouragingly when Belle opened it, but made no move to follow her inside. After several seconds Belle shut the door again, took off her shoes, and padded down several hallways to reach her bedroom.

She closed the curtains and crawled under the covers, relaxing as she closed her eyes, and tried to sleep in the comforting darkness. She napped intermittently throughout the afternoon, alternating between sleeping lightly and resting with her eyes closed. Belle thought about her father as she did so. Why had she told the ugly woman about him? George didn't need to know, didn't _deserve_ to know, anything about her life. She was nothing. Baa de Mer was nothing. If Father had succeeded in his plan to use the ultimate weapon, George would have... would have... she would have died. So would Roland and Luna. And that was good, wasn't it? That was supposed to be good. The New World didn't need places like Baa de Mer, because it was perfect. Father had said that a perfect girl deserved a perfect world, and—

There was a quiet knock on the door. "Belle?" George called softly.

"What is it?"

"Can you come downstairs with me?"

"No."

"Please."

"_Fine_," Belle huffed, getting out of bed. She followed George down the hallway to the door in the kitchen, and hesitated at the threshold to the cellar. But George was already going down the steps and had the light on, so the girl slowly followed.

In the cellar, there were bubbles. Oceans and oceans of shiny soap bubbles. They covered every surface, completely hiding the floor and the first meter or so of the wall. The bottom four steps had been totally submerged. Only the ceiling was untouched.

"I—" Belle said.

"Tom! Ro!" an electronic voice said. A light shone through the wall of bubbles, and there was a rumbling noise. An orange pokémon shaped like a ball with a spike on its head and surrounded by a bluish glow floated towards them, grinning. It was covered in suds.

"You seem pretty pleased with yourself, Rotom," George said, still giggling.

The pokémon winked out of existence, but a dusty old transistor radio sitting at the edge of one of the steps came to life. The dial spun, the speakers crackling with static, as it began cycling through radio stations. It caught the words, "_not—alone_" and then came to rest on a station with nothing but static.

"Really? So you had help creating this mess?" George asked, putting her fists on her hips. She was grinning.

"_Yes_," the radio said, the dial flickering again.

"Is the pokémon talking through the radio?" Belle asked, staring in horror at the little machine.

"Huh? Oh, yeah. That's the way Rotom likes to communicate. Did you help them do this?"

The radio let out a clip of a cheering crowd. Belle glared at it. "No," the girl snapped. "Rotom messed up the washing machine."

"Rotom can't move the soap, though," George pointed out, wading through the wall of bubbles towards the corner where the washer and dryer were. She opened the machine and said, "aha," before pulling out Belle's dress—and the plastic bottle of hand soap, which had cracked and broken open during the wash cycle. It was empty now.

"Did you put this in the washing machine?" George asked.

Belle folded her arms over her chest. "Soap cleans things," she said.

"But there are different kinds. Is this why you were kicking my door?"

Belle said nothing.

George was still smiling, and didn't seem at all angry. "Okay," she said, "I'll clean this up since you're concussed. Next time you don't know how to do something, all you have to do is ask. That's—"

Upstairs, the doorbell rang.

George waded back out of the ocean of bubbles and went up the stairs, trailed by Belle. Outside the front door, a pelipper was perched on top of a package on the porch. It was glaring at the assembled furfrou pack, standing guard over its prize with its feathers fluffed up to make it appear larger, and the furfrou were in turn watching the bird pokémon intently.

"Hello, hello," George said, interrupting the standoff and addressing the pelipper. "Are you with the Kalosian Mail Service?"

The flying-type pokémon squawked what might have been an affirmative, turning towards the woman and displaying a small cord attached to one blue leg. A pendant with the initials KMS dangled from it.

"I'm Georgina Bergeron. Could I have my package, please?"

The pokémon opened its beak, displaying an _enormous_ mouth, and Belle held her breath as George reached inside... and then pulled her hand back out with a form enclosed in a plastic slip. She signed it, checking off a box to say that the package had arrived undamaged, then put the form back inside the slip and allowed the pelipper to take it back in its beak.

"Thank you!"

The pokémon squawked again and took off, flapping laboriously before it cleared the porch. The furfrou pack chased it delightedly, barking up a storm and jumping up into the air piteously short of where the pelipper soared six or seven meters above their heads. The flying-type pokémon circled Baa de Mer once, then flew away down Route 12 towards Coumarine City. George watched it, then went back inside and set the package on the table.

"I think this is my four mareep," she said.

The package was less than twenty centimeters square. Belle raised an eyebrow.

"Well, they're inside their pokéballs," George pointed out. Sure enough, when she opened the package there were four pokéballs nestled inside little cups, like eggs in an egg carton. There was a piece of paper attached to each that had blanks for the species, age, and gender of the pokémon inside, which someone had filled in with purple pen. All four pokéballs contained adult mareep, and there were three females and one male. A scrawled note indiciated that all three females were pregnant.

"You can get pokémon in the mail?" Belle asked.

"Why not?" George responded. "These came from a breeder in Kiloude City, and it's easiest to transport pokémon inside their pokéballs. You ready to let these mareep loose?"

"_No_," Belle said, taking a few steps back from the table.

George laughed. "That's what you always say. But being inside a pokéball for long periods is bad for embryonic development, and—"

"I meant... inside the house, that's bad," Belle said.

"Oh. Yeah. Wasn't planning on doing that. I should probably set up a paddock for them. Can you make sure Rotom doesn't get any ideas with the pokéballs while I do that?"

Belle hesitated, then nodded warily. George tromped out of the house and into the barn, hauling out a coil of heavy woven-wire fencing and a bunch of 1.5-meter tee-posts. Belle sat on the porch with the carton of pokéballs as George took a hammer and pounded the tee-posts into the ground so they would stand up by themselves, then finished the job with a sledgehammer. Belle winced at the harsh ringing sound each time the metal tee-posts were struck with the iron hammer.

The furfrou pack milled around George, watching and sniffing curiously as she worked, and one pokémon with a red collar broke away and came to Belle. Roland shoved his wet nose against Belle's cheek as a greeting, then sat down beside her on the porch step. Belle put an arm around the furfrou's shaggy back and leaned her head against the normal-type pokémon's shoulder, closing her eyes against the noise. Eventually, it ended.

"You can bring 'em out now!" George called. Belle opened her eyes. The woman had uncoiled the woven-wire fencing and wrapped it around the frame she had made from the tee-posts, forming a rough square, and secured it with zip ties. Belle walked over to her, followed by Roland, and shoved the carton into her hands. George released the mareep in quick succession, so that there were soon four woolly pokémon standing in the makeshift paddock. They baa'ed in displeasure at their strange new surroundings, nervously clustering together at the center of the paddock.

"Hey there," George said, speaking in a gentle, soft voice. "This is Baa de Mer Ranch, your new home. You've come a long way from Kiloude City—"

"Reep! Reep!" the largest mareep said. It snorted, its wool crackling and sparking as it built up electricity.

"There's no need to be afraid," George said in that same gentle tone. "We're friends; we don't need to fight."

"_Marrr!_" the large mareep said, sending out a Thundershock. George leaped out of the way just in time, taking refuge behind the old oak tree next to the ruined greenhouse. The Thundershock hit the tree instead of her, blackening a small section of bark.

"Trev? Nant?" the tree rumbled.

Belle shrieked in surprise as the tree came to life, uprooting itself and lumbering towards the paddock of mareep. Belle scurried away from it, closely trailed by Roland. The normal-type pokémon had his hackles raised and was keeping himself positioned between Belle and the mareep, growling softly at the aggressive pokémon.

"Druid, use Shadow Claw!" George called.

Nothing happened. The large mareep baa'ed angrily and let out another Thundershock attack, which singed off several of the tree's leaves. But then the late afternoon shadows seemed to shift against the direction of the sun, the silhouettes of the trevenant's branches stretching out across the grass towards the mareep. They soundlessly drifted up the pokémon's legs, coiling around its belly and neck, and dug in. Bright lines of blood appeared against the blue skin and yellow wool. The mareep squealed and struggled against the Shadow Claw, causing the wounds to deepen.

"Druid, enough! Mareep, stand still while I get the first-aid kit."

The trevenant let out a noise like the wind rustling through leaves, then seemed to settle into its new place on the lawn. The bloody Shadow Claw weapons disappeared. Belle stared at the pokémon, mouth agape. It had seemed like a half-dead, rotting old tree when she had passed it by earlier, but now she could see in one of its hollows a glaring red eye that looked all around. She cringed when the eye swung towards her, but the trevenant only examined her briefly before shifting its gaze elsewhere.

The large mareep, meanwhile, stood still in the paddock, trembling with fear and pain. Its flock clustered around it, sniffing its wounds, and began sparking in agitation when George reappeared carrying a red plastic briefcase. A warning rumble from the trevenant caused them to flee to the opposite end of the paddock and allow George to approach the injured mareep.

The largest mareep's trembling increased when George drew near, and she started to croon a soft, wordless, soothing tune as she opened the briefcase to remove medical supplies. She smeared the wounds with antibiotic gel, covered them with gauze, and then wrapped them with self-adhesive bandages to hold the gauze in place.

George fixed a collar with an everstone around the mareep's neck, checked its teeth and hooves, then attached a leash and led the pokémon into the barn. The mareep balked for a half second, then meekly followed the woman with the rest of its flock following it. Belle trailed after them, giving the trevenant a wide berth.

"Where did that pokémon come from?" Belle demanded. George ushered the mareep into the largest of the box stalls and went to a hose that was lying coiled in a corner. She slung it over the stall's wall and into the bottom of a heavy plastic trough, which began to fill with water when she turned the tap

"The trevenant?" George asked, disappearing into the back room.

"Yeah."

"He... well, Druid came with me," George answered, dragging a metal trash can full of alfalfa pellets to the edge of the stall. She scooped several generous portions into feed buckets inside, which seemed to calm the mareep. Even the injured one started eating, and their distressed baa'ing died down now that their mouths were full. George hauled the trash can back into the storage room, then came to stand next to Belle. She leaned her forearms on the edge of the stall, gazing down at the mareep. Belle had to stand on tip-toe to peer over the edge at them.

"What do you mean?"

"Druid is—was, sorry—_was_ my pokémon, back when I was a trainer."

"_You_ were a trainer?" Belle demanded.

"Yeah," George said softly. "Yeah, kid, I was."


End file.
